


His Fiery Heart

by Sher_Indigo



Category: Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Eventual Romance, First Kiss, First Time, Gay Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-12 14:02:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10492473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sher_Indigo/pseuds/Sher_Indigo
Summary: Sarvelio Dreth, legendary summoner, is certainly surrounded by many tales of his daring deeds and adventures.  For those that knew him, he was the first to admit that his apparent talent for magical conjuration wasn't all that it seemed.  The daring deeds, some would say, are equally to be treated as fictions, but although he would confess that his motives weren't always pure, there can be no doubt that the life of Sarvelio Dreth was one filled with unusual activity.His arrival on Vvardenfell is shrouded with mystery, some say he arrived by prison ship, others that he was sequestered here away from those who might seek to harm an illegitimate son of King Helseth himself.  Whichever the reason, and certainly I am of the school of thought that considers both reasons to have equal truth, Sarvelio Dreth, a Dunmer not of the tribes of Vvardenfell arrived penniless and without allies.





	1. A Strange Encounter

Luck apparently was not shining upon him but Sarvelio was not a mer to let misfortune cast shadows on his optimism. More specifically, he told himself, he never for a moment doubted his ability to reverse his own fortunes. Seizing upon every opportunity to hand he had turned a passing talent for alchemy into a ready source of gold, had quietly stolen untended goods and sold them to furnish himself with better clothes than the rags he'd arrived in. 

Much to his dismay, he'd also discovered the need to dust off his skills with the blade to deal with the wealth of hostile creatures and bandits that flourished in the stark wilderness.

Odd jobs for the mage's guild also proved a source of good income and Sarvelio finally decided that matters were on the up for him. There was the disturbing fact of his dreams and the questions that the authorities had asked but he put those thoughts to one side while he endeavoured to find his feet in this new land. Accustomed to carving his own way, he felt more than equal to the task.

Events began to take a turn for the unusual when Sarvelio was out in the wilderness around Balmora collecting samples of the local flora for his contact in the Mage's Guild. It was late afternoon and Sarvelio was feeling buoyantly happy because he'd been able to afford a very fine outfit of new clothes and had managed to acquire a dilapidated property on the outskirts of Balmora for an absolute song. With a home of his own, his purse full and gainful employment he could almost forget the circumstances that had led to his arrival in the country.

Whilst passing by the nearby Fort Buckmoth – wary about setting foot within the walls of the Imperial Fort lest he be detained for misdemeanours real or imagined – he saw a startling sight. There, wandering amongst the Roobrushes was a tall figure – a full head taller than the compact Sarvelio - with skin as black as soot swirled with vivid red markings. He was naked, carrying a shield, a mighty war-axe and wore an expression of utter bewilderment on features that looked more accustomed to looking fearsome and intimidating. Sarvelio wasn't sure what to make of this scene, other than presume that this fantastic creature had fallen upon some grave misfortune to end up without his clothes and no friends beside him.

The being heard Sarvelio's approach and whirled round to face him, brows snapping to a frown, hands hefting his war-axe. Sarvelio stepped back a few paces and held up his hands. “Pardon me, serra, I couldn't help but notice that you seemed to be in much the same fix I was a few days ago.” He was sure the being wouldn't understand a word he said, but he hoped his calm tone of voice would speak for him. 

The creature's shoulders sagged as if he were relieved. “Please, can you help me?”

Sarvelio blinked in surprise that he'd comprehended the stranger's language, thick with a very foreign accent, but understandable nonetheless. “What happened to you, serra, are you lost?”

“You could say that, yes. I am a Markynaz, one of the right hand of Mehrunes Dagon, Daedric Prince of chaos and destruction.” Sarvelio paled at these words, but reasoned that if the creature intended him harm, he'd have used that terrifying axe on him already. “A rift opened between my realm in oblivion and here. I have wandered aimless and lost for days with no hope of return.”

Sarvelio swallowed. “I-I don't think I can help you with that, serra, my skills with magic are poor at best.”

The creature gave him a bitter smile. “I need food. I need to find warmth and a safe place to bide my time until I can find a way back. I must adapt and survive, but it is difficult, for the men and mer are most distrustful of me.” He shivered, rubbing his hands along his arms. 

Of course he had heard of Dremora, the aggressive, intelligent race of dark-skinned demons who served the Prince of Chaos in his burning plane of Oblivion. Some of the mages in the guild even bragged of being able to summon them into service for short periods of time. Here was a lost Dremora, far from home, searching for answers and a way home. A situation that echoed close to his heart, except this poor creature was in much worse straits than he'd been. His mother had taught him to be generous even if he didn't have much to spare. The Gods will reward the deed in due course, she had told him. “Adapt and survive.” He grinned. “That's my motto. Come, Serra, come with me and I'll buy you dinner at the Eight Pates, we'll get you fixed up in no time.” The shivering, naked hand of Lord Dagon smiled.

*

He'd never been one to shy away from a challenge but even Sarvelio wondered if he'd finally bitten off more than he could chew. The offer of dinner had been flippantly offered, but he'd had no idea it would take so long to get there. Every guard on the way had had his sword jumping from its scabbard, ready to skewer Gartanas and the errant conjurer who'd summoned him. It had taken a lot of sweet talking and an upsetting amount of the coin in his purse to smooth the way. At least no one would trouble them in Balmora again.

Sarvelio was very much aware of the Dremora's close scrutiny of him, and he knew that the demon was fully cogent of the trouble that his companion was being put to. Sarvelio was as philosophical as ever: easy come, easy go he felt, but he was still glad of the Dremora's gratitude. Just for that, he bought him a rather handsome dark robe to cover the poor fellow's nakedness before taking them both for a slap-up meal in the Eight Plates.

Despite having requested a private table, there were still a number of curious eyes appearing around the screen surrounding their booth to gawk at the newcomer with his unusual companion. The Dremora ate stolidly, forcibly ignoring them all and Sarvelio decided that was probably the best option. They would soon tire of staring once they discovered that the demon wasn't going to go on some insane destructive rampage around the town. At least, he hoped not.

“How are you stomaching the fare?” He enquired, waving a fork casually. “Spiced guar isn't for everyone's pallets I'll grant you.”

“It is very good. I thank you most humbly. I do not know how I will repay this debt but I shall do my best.”

Sarvelio's expression softened. “Listen, friend, I'm happy to help you and for the record, I am not keeping a tab. Let's just be happy to be stuck together for a while.”

The Dremora grinned. “You have been an enlightening companion thus far, Sarvelio Dreth, I do believe I am going to enjoy my time trapped in your dimension.”

“Never a dull moment, that's what my mother always said about me.” Sarvelio said airily.

“She was right.” The demon told him earnestly.

Sarvelio rolled his eyes. Sensing that he'd said something amiss, the Dremora picked his way onto a more neutral topic. “I do not intend to inconvenience you too much; I will be content to follow you on any journeys you take, as if I had been summoned.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I've never liked the idea of your kind being used as servants for the sakes of our wizards' magics.”

The eerie flame-red eyes regarded him soberly. “My kind were created to serve. Dagon needed hands to follow orders without question and so he made us. It is no different.”

“Still, I'd like to think that you were in control of your own choices.”

“Oh but I am.” The Markynaz said enigmatically.


	2. Chapter 2

Sarvelio found he was somewhat glad of the Dremora's company as darkness fell and he unlocked the door of his new house. The crumbling manor had been carved right into the mountain behind the town so was deceptively large. At the time, Sarvelio had been excited to get such a bargain, but after a night spent rattling around in the vast place alone, the shine had worn off the deal. Gartanas, exhausted after his ordeal of the past few days was delighted to be shown to the guest quarters and immediately readied himself for bed, his expression blissful at the notion of warm blankets and a comfortable place to sleep. Sarvelio, at ease with the demon, left him to it and went to a room further down the hall to see what potions he could craft with what he had laying around in the larder so that there was some possibility of some coin to spend on the morrow.

He spent a peaceful night but was disappointed to wake to a disturbingly silent house. He checked the guest quarters but there was no sign of his demonic companion. 

“Gartanas?” He called, but there was no reply. He found no anger that the creature had taken off without a word, merely a sadness that he hadn't even said goodbye. With heavy heart, he returned to his alchemy lab to collect the potions that he would sell to Nalcyra. To his surprise, the door to the ruined herb nursery opened and Gartanas emerged. A helpless, happy smile erupted onto Sarvelio's lips. Gartanas regarded him with mild bemusement. 

“I thought you'd gone.” Sarvelio confessed.

“And where would I go?”

He shrugged. “Away. From me.”

Gartanas snorted derisively. Sarvelio took that as a positive statement. “Do you want breakfast? I was about to go out to do some shopping.”

A dark eyebrow lifted in question. “More shopping? You didn't buy enough yesterday?”

“I'm in the mood for some Kwama egg. Apparently it is quite the delicacy here.”

“I think you do little planning for the future spending so much.”

“If I was into planning for the future I'd never have been in a position to help you yesterday. Besides, in a week and a half I have done all right for myself. I think Vvardenfell is going to be good for you too.”

As they finished their lavish breakfast, which Gartanas had to admit was worth every penny spent on it, he steered the subject onto Sarvelio's plans. “I may not be of your world, Sarvelio Dreth, but I know when someone is avoiding a duty they must fulfill.”

“I have some business to attend to yes.” Sarvelio hedged. “but I fear that those who asked me to carry out these tasks have greatly overestimated my skill. Either that or they merely wish to see me perish.”

Gartanas chewed on his last forkful of the fluffy Kwama egg delight and put his fork down carefully. “You have enemies?”

“Oh yes. I have what you might describe as 'uncertain parentage.' Well, I know who my parents are, but there are those who would like it very much if no one else knew.”

The dremora nodded sagely. “I see. It would be if I were to mate with one of my lord Dagon's handmaids and sire new kyn without permission.”

Sarvelio chewed more slowly and shifted uncomfortably. “Something like that, yes.”

Gartanas frowned. “But if I did such a thing, the offspring would not be punished. I would be flayed alive and my organs torn from my body, but none would harm the offspring. Why then do you fear?”

“Because here I could cause a lot of trouble.” He rolled his eyes and laid down his fork. “I'm the bastard son of a terribly important man, who as yet has had no other children. Many of the politicians around this man would rather there wasn't the opportunity for me to be the sole heir of everything, so they seek to remedy this by eliminating me.”

“They would rather the kingdom fell into chaos than fall to you?”

“That is the long and the short of it.” He flashed a brief smile, glad that the demon was quite quick on the uptake. “If my terribly important father were to die without any heirs then the politicians could take over the rule. If a legitimate heir were produced, then they could control that heir. If I were to inherit…” He trailed off, then added, “well, nobody controls me.” He grinned ruefully.

“In that case.” The dremora said thoughtfully, “It will most definitely be for the best if I accompany you on your travels.”

And so began the partnership that would eventually draw the attention of the balladeers and the scribes.


	3. Six sides of mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A familiar early quest!

The bandits in the ruin scarcely knew what hit them. Sarvelio bent over, gulping in air, his rusty sabre limp in his slack grasp while Gartanas stood over the fallen bodies, his dark face a mask of neutrality. “Thanks.” Sarvelio wheezed. “I'd have been so much kanet butter smeared on the stones if you hadn't dived into the fight.”

The dremora grunted. “These mortals were weak.”

“Says a lot for me then.” He giggled weakly.

Gartanas frowned. “They outnumbered you greatly.”

Sarvelio giggled again. The big demon was trying to spare his feelings! He felt a sudden wave of fondness for the Dremora, then fought it down as he met the blazing, serious gaze of his new friend.

“Did you learn nothing?” He roared. “I could have killed you when you got in the way of my spellcasting and as for walking into the path of my axe, I swear scamps have more brains than you!” 

“A few fencing lessons paid for by my father never really prepared me for this sort of thing.” He explained.

“You are not prepared at all!” Gartanas snapped. Sarvelio could see the palpable tension emanate from the demon, the thread of anxiety in his gruff, foreign voice.

“I'm all right, Gart, no harm done.” He said quietly.

Gartanas grunted again and fidgeted, glancing at the fall of stones leading up to a platform and another room. “So, what is it you were to come here to fetch?”

A small hysterical laugh trickled from Sarvelio's lips. “A box.”

“A box? What order of box?”

“I don't know. A box, some kind of ancient Dwemer toy.”

A guttural string of daedric expletives erupted from the Dremora. The war axe was swung and cleaved a boulder in two. “If someone wants you dead this badly, why not send an assassin to do the job rather than send you after some long-forgotten toy?”

“Oh, they tried the assassins, I managed to avoid them. The Morag Tong eventually said that they would refuse any further Honourable Writ taken on me. The Black Brotherhood came too but I’ve so far managed to give them the slip as well. Giving me garbled prophecies and making my dreams go strange is doing a much more successful job of killing me than any of their black-clad fiends did. Besides, someone might genuinely want the toy.”

“Well, that's all right then.” Gartanas muttered and set off up the slope towards the platform.

“You don't have to do this!” Sarvelio called after him. “I'd be just as happy to live out my life making potions and fixing up that overly-large house of mine.”

Another string of daedric expletives echoed round the cavern. 

Sarvelio felt that the second round of fighting went much more smoothly. Not only was the head of the bandit squad outnumbered two-to-one, but Sarvelio managed to take him by surprise and keep the upper hand in the fight. Sure, Crito had been so astonished by the sight of the dremora that he'd scarce noticed the slight dunmer rattling on his armour with his rusty sabre but Sarvelio had also managed to dodge out of the way when Gartanas had fired off one of his terrifying spells. So yes, again the fight had been won by the Dremora, but at least it hadn't raised another round of curses either. 

Gartanas had watched him silently while he collected the small box from the shelf and helped himself to the rest of the valuable dwemer artefacts lying around the room. “Have you finished here?” The dremora groused a while later.

“Nearly.” Sarvelio packed his backpack for the third time, trying to find the best way to fit far too many things into the compact space in such a way that he could still lift it.

“If I were to carry some of that can we leave?”

“I would hate to presume...”

With a snarl, Gartanas grabbed some of the goblets and tankards that rolled away from the backpack and secreted them away in his belt pouches. “Please presume away, I want to leave this place.”

Sarvelio glanced round, as if seeing the place for the first time. He heard the strange mechanical echoings of machinery down in the deeps but other than that was a damp, cloying silence. “It's not too bad.”

Gartanas shuddered. “Let us just leave here. You can convince me of its finer points later once we return home.”

The Dremora then hefted the groaning backpack and stalked from the room. Sarvelio stared after him, astonished. That the demon felt uncomfortable in dwemer ruins was one thing, that he'd called Sarvelio's house “home” was entirely another.


	4. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is where things begin to heat up between Sarvelio and Gartanas...

Discovery

Sarvelio groaned as he was prodded again.

“You would sleep all the day, Sarvelio.” The dremora complained. “Get up.”

He opened his eyes and yelped in alarm as he saw the demon standing over him dressed in a ragtag selection of armour and wielding his axe. Chagrin flitted over the dark features briefly before he lowered the axe and explained, “Come to the armoury, we must improve your performance in battle.”

“My performance?”

The dremora grumbled. “I do not want you to end up as 'so much kanet butter' as you so aptly put it come our next fight. I will teach you some things that your father's fencing tutor will have missed.”

At that, Gartanas stalked from the room. Sarvelio heard him go downstairs and rattle around in the armoury, clearing space among the rusting debris and broken mannequins. 

Sarvelio, intrigued, wondered what the dremora would show him. An hour later he was on his knees crying for mercy. “By the Nine, Gart! Enough!”

His fiery eyes blazing, Gartanas rounded on him again. Sarvelio raised his sword arm feebly to parry the blow. “Will your enemies cease because you wish it so? No, they will pounce upon your tiredness and use it against you.”

“A fair point, Gart, but at this rate you'll have finished the job my enemies have failed to achieve.”

The dremora ground to a halt and blinked at him. “I apologise, Sarvelio. I did not mean to push you so hard on our first training session, I am just...anxious that you are equipped as well as possible. I now see that dremora method of training may not be suitable for you after all.”

“Dremora training is great, Gart, but we dunmer need things to be a little more spread out to get our bodies used to the increased activity.”

His ego salved, Gartanas gave him a wavering smile. “Then we shall try again later. Shall we freshen up and go shopping now?”

Sarvelio spluttered a laugh. “You want to go shopping?”

Gartanas shrugged. “It is a pleasing enough pass-time and this house needs some more work.”

He could scarce contain his amusement. “Very well, we shall refresh ourselves and hit Balmora for every scatter rug and cushion we can find.”

*

Gartanas had previously discovered the pool downstairs, deep in the underground part of the house. He had explained that in his realm there was little water, and what pools existed were filled with molten lava. “How do you guys wash then?” Sarvelio had enquired.

“We have heated rooms, closed in so we sweat then we apply oil and scrape it off with the blades of our daggers.”

“That hardly sounds pleasant. Here we have scented soaps and water.”

The dremora seemed to have embraced the procedure with gusto for he was first into the pool room and shedding his robe and the myriad pieces of armour onto the cool marble. He cast a coy glance over his shoulder and stepped into the water to his ankles.

Sarvelio briefly wondered if the demon was showing off a little. Certainly he had a great deal to show off and now that nudity wasn't something randomly enforced upon the dremora he could now enjoy his own body. He admired the sleek, powerful, soot-black form, amazingly toned with corded muscle and rather beautiful with the swirling scarlet markings down his back and thighs. Gartanas, apparently oblivious to being observed, stepped deeper into the pool and dipped his hands beneath the surface, playing with the crystal water. He saw the tremor of goosebumps travel over Gartanas's flesh as more of him came into contact with the water. He'd turned a little. Sarvelio could see the shapely tip of the dremora's penis gently touch the surface, saw the water ripple around Gartanas's powerful thighs, the light shiver that passed over his firm buttocks. He felt a stirring in his own groin. Sarvelio swallowed. Clearly he'd spent too long in prison, he chided himself, but there was no escaping the fact that Gartanas was rather magnificent and if Sarvelio were honest with himself, his sudden attraction had little to do with prolonged confinement and everything to do with his growing fondness for the demon. He sighed, and thought: well, that is an unexpected development, but it seems my soul is not averse to the notion so I may as well not deny it. Gartanas eased deeper into the water and plunged completely in, his black skin glossy, his silky black hair plastered to his shoulders as he surfaced, gasping and grinning. “Come on in!” The dremora called. “It is cold, but peculiarly pleasant.”

Sarvelio peeled off his own garments, knowing that his dusky blue-grey flesh was not nearly so eye-catching as the dremora's black and red. And although he had the lean, wiry muscle that defined his people, he was very much aware that he'd let himself grow soft – favouring inactivity and comfort over exertion. Vvardenfell was swift changing that, he grimaced as tortured muscles pulled and ached.

He was aware of the dremora's burning gaze upon him the whole while. It was only fair, he supposed, since he'd gaped at the demon's fetching body for long enough although his show was probably not as inspiring. He stepped into the pool, shivering, all the while carefully watched by Gartanas. He discovered that the demon wasn't swimming at all but standing on a ledge at the edge of the pool.

“I will sink to the bottom.” Gartanas explained.

“No, you won't, you just need to trust the water to hold you.” He demonstrated by floating onto his back, repressing a smile as he found he secretly enjoyed displaying his body to the dremora. He flinched with surprise when he felt Gartanas's hands gently touch his shoulders and sweep down his spine.

“Nothing is supporting you.” The dremora said with astonishment. 

Sarvelio swallowed past the sudden knot of desire that choked his throat. Gartanas was very close and the sense of the magnificent nude male so near to his own body was driving him to distraction. “Only the water. Try it.”

Without removing his gaze from Sarvelio's, Gartanas slid back into the water, Sarvelio supporting his shoulders. “There, see.” the dunmer smiled and let go. To the surprise of both men, the dremora promptly began to sink beneath the surface. Gartanas flailed with his arms but Sarvelio caught him and hauled him to the surface. As his arms went about the demon he could see why he'd sank – he was utterly solid, just muscle upon muscle upon dense bone. Gartanas spat out a mouthful of water, a frown of confusion on his features. “The water in your world likes me not at all.”

“Maybe it just needs to get used to you.” A helpless little smile flitted across his lips, blushing almost to the roots of his deep red hair as he knew the dremora couldn't possibly have missed the gentle press of Sarvelio's stiffening penis against the solid dark thigh.

“I am prepared to do any task if it means I am accepted here.”

Sarvelio gave him a roguish grin. “I can buy and charm that for you.”

The dark brows snapped into a frown. “I thought you understood. I want acceptance here,” He slapped his hand over Sarvelio's chest, splashing water onto both of them. “The others in this world are nothing to me.” With a low grumble the dremora strode from the pool, the water roiling noisily in his wake. Sarvelio cowered in the pool desperately trying to make sense of what had just happened. Had the dremora been flirting with him? Surely not...surely he was looking for him to be since he couldn't contain his own desires. But he couldn't forget the agony in his friend's eerie red eyes that burned with the fires of Oblivion...and passion.

Confused, Sarvelio left the pool, dried himself off, dressed and went to find Gartanas hoping that the plan to spend the afternoon shopping together hadn't changed.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of what I wrote for these two characters back in the day, but reading this again makes me want to dig out that old save game and see what happens next with these two.

The dremora was subdued but still eager to shop. Sarvelio hoped to make it up to the demon for his earlier reservations by purchasing numerous treats and trinkets for him which were received with delight and grumbles about how the money would be better spent on a new weapon.

“Nothing is too good for my Markynaz.” He said airily and to prove his point bought a pair of matched silver daggers, handing one to the demon, who accepted it with quiet thanks. He bought a cheap leather cuirass and hoped that he wouldn't have cause to use that either. 

News came that Sarvelio's contact wished him to travel to a tomb near Pelegiad to recover an artefact there. Sarvelio was torn, he knew that he wasn't anywhere near ready for further battles, but he needed some distraction for a while to figure out what his unexpected feelings for Gartanas meant. Gartanas seemed equally unenthusiastic and complained about their lack of equipment for fighting undead.

Sarvelio shrugged. “It will be fine, I'm sure. I was taught a few destruction spells and I have this enchanted dagger. There will probably be nothing but dust and bones down there anyway.”

“So we travel for Pelegiad?”

“If we set off now we can spend the night in Seyda Neen and fetch that skull first thing on the morrow.”

*

“Ah, my dear friend Sarvelio, so good to see you again.” Gushed Araille. Sarvelio smiled and shook hands with the tall, elegant Altmer.

“It is good to be back. Araille, allow me to introduce my friend and companion, Gartanas.”

Araille's happy smile faded at the sight of the dremora who lurked by the door, glaring out from beneath a dark cape. “Oh my,” the Altmer giggled nervously, “That's quite an alarming friend you have, Sarvelio.”

“He's quite safe I assure you.”

Gartanas grunted but offered no denial. 

“We're travelling on to Pelegiad in the morning, I have some unpleasant...business to attend to there and we need a place to stay tonight.”

“Well, of course you can stay, just promise that you will drop by once your business is concluded. My finest room is yours for the night, Sarvelio.” He gave the dremora a guarded glance. “And I believe I have spare quarters for your friend too. I daresay sharing a room with one of Dagon's soldiers is the last thing any of us wants.”

Sarvelio glanced at Gartanas and caught the quickly concealed look of sadness that crossed the dremora's features. He gnawed his lip, wanting to reassure his friend while at the same time needing to ensure that Arille didn't freak that his relationship with the dremora went a little deeper than the usual conjurer and summoned servant.

“We'll talk about it later.” He mouthed to Gartanas before smiling pleasantly as Arille led him away to proudly display his newly refurbished guest rooms.

To his dismay he hardly got the chance to say anything to Gartanas. Arille kept him busy for the rest of the evening, desiring to hear every last shred of the happenings in Balmora and Vivec. Arille was a big-city mer trapped in a provincial Bitter Coast town and loved the chance to show his airs and graces to those he felt would appreciate it. The bastard son of the king being exactly that sort of person, Sarvelio thought wryly. Gartanas sat in the corner, silent and wary, his expression closed and mildly dangerous. Before Arille was even half finished with Sarvelio, Gartanas muttered his excuses and left.

Sarvelio watched him leave, his heart heavy, his eyes begging him to stay, or at least to understand that if they lost Arille's good favour then the town would be closed to them.   
As he went to bed later he realised he had no idea where the dremora's room was located so any speeches would have to be left till the morning.

Gartanas's mood improved as they left Seyda Neen and walked through a pass in the hills to reach the road to Pelegiad. The ancestral tomb was on the way and by the time they reached the entrance, Gartanas seemed focused on nothing else but the forthcoming battle. The daedra's hand was on the latch, ready to go within when Sarvelio clamped his arm firmly. “Gart, I'm sorry about last night.”

“There is no need to apologise, Sarvelio Dreth.”

“Yes there is, your feelings were hurt. Arille fancies himself above everyone else and ranked you as my servant. I was too weak to correct him and I'm sorry for that.”

“No harm was done.” 

“Yes. There was.” Sarvelio said firmly and forced Gartanas to look at him. “Your feelings are important.”

The dremora's jaw was tight and his vivid scarlet eyes blazed, “My feelings make little sense to me at the moment. That High Elf and his opinions matter not, it shows me what this world thinks of my kind and remind me that I do not belong in this place.”

“No, Gart, all that shows is ignorance. You belong here as much as any of us do. You deserve respect and you should ignore those that won't give it to you.”

Gartanas's mouth was a thin line. Sarvelio couldn't read his expression. “There is no word for 'respect' in my language.” His lashes lowered, concealing the swirling glow of his eyes before he opened the tomb door and stepped inside.

The air in the tomb was dry and tasted of dust. Faint whispers and scratching sounds could be heard deep within the long carved stone passageways. Sarvelio stepped ahead carefully and padded along the corridor, hugging the shadows so that he was almost invisible. He paused as he found an undecomposed body lying on the floor. Sarvelio checked the dark elf's corpse and found a scroll bearing the faded name of his contact and a description of the very item he himself was searching for. He shuddered. “Looks like this poor fellow met a sticky end on this same quest.”

Gartanas drew his axe and said brusquely, “I shall go ahead.”

“No, we both go. This is my fool's errand, not yours.”

The dremora's mouth drew into a thin, disapproving line once more but he fell in beside Sarvelio all the same. As they rounded the corner they saw the translucent shape of a dunmer ancestor spirit. Without hesitation, Sarvelio reached within himself and gathered fire into his hands that he threw at the ghost. Furious, it advanced on him. Gartanas let fly with his devastating lightning bolts and soon the ghost was no more than a pile of dust on the ground.

“They say that Dunmer never rest easy. My mother thought it was to do with our terribly long lives that made us restless then in death.”

Gartanas grunted. “Dremora are immortal but we leave no shades on our passing. It is said that Lord Dagon takes our essence back into him if we fall in battle.”

“Does that not make you afraid?”

“They say a Dremora fears nothing.” Gartanas gave a twisted grin. “But if we fall in battle our deeds are not recorded by our Lord or his hands, it is as if we never were and that makes me afraid.”

Sarvelio gave his friend a sympathetic smile. “We fear that here too, to live our lives and not be recognised for anything.”

“Lord Dagon cares not for such things, we are his tools to achieve his goals and that should be satisfaction enough for any Dremora, but in our hearts we crave the same things as men and mer do.”

“Respect?”

Gartanas gave an enigmatic smile. “Amongst other things.” He continued down the dim passageway leaving Sarvelio to follow in his wake wondering what the dremora meant by that.

Together they fought skeletons, ghosts and hideous half-rotted monsters deep in the crypts until they finally came upon the chamber that held the skull Sarvelio's contact sought. Sarvelio regarded the skull a moment before tucking it away in his bag. “I wonder what they want with this old thing.”

“I was scornful of the Dwemer toy, but this seems even more ludicrous.” Gartanas grunted.

“I really am a pawn in someone's plan, am I not, my friend?”

“It would seem so. We are often sent out into battle without knowledge of who or why we are to fight. We just do so.”

“Because Lord Dagon commands it.”

“Lord Dagon or the sorcerer who summons us.” Gartanas corrected.

Sarvelio gave his friend a lopsided smile. “I think once we leave this godsforsaken tomb, we should go back to that lovely tavern in charming Pelegiad and get roaring drunk.”

“I know not what you mean, but it sounds like a good idea.”

 

*

The mazte jars covered the table. Sarvelio was deep in his cups and glad of it. He eyed Gartanas with misty vision and couldn't discern whether the strong beverage was having any kind of effect on the dremora. Women in the tavern stared at Sarvelio longingly but he couldn't muster any interest in return. The hungry gazes of the women on the roguish dunmer had not escaped Gartanas's notice either and he stared sourly into his pewter cup.

“Thank you again for coming with me on this. I fear I'd have ended up in the same state as that poor fellow we found if you hadn't been there today.”

“It is no trouble.” Gartanas's voice was flat.

Sarvelio sighed. Gartanas had been in a mood since they'd left Balmora and Sarvelio hadn't been brave enough to ask him about it as he suspected he knew exactly what the matter was. Too much mazte later, however, had improved his courage somewhat. “Gart,” he burped, “were you hitting on me the other day?”

The black skinned hand tightened its grip around the mug, so much that his knuckles paled and Sarvelio feared the cup would shatter. “As I said earlier, my feelings make little sense to me at the moment.”

“But you were hitting on me.” Sarvelio insisted.

“I am confused. Let us leave it at that.”

Sarvelio got to his feet, swaying a little. He staggered towards the bar, pausing to lean on Gartanas's shoulder and whisper in his pointed ear. “That's a pity because I think I want you to hit on me some more.”

He tottered away leaving Gartanas to mull that over, satisfied with the dumbfounded look on his friend's face. Maybe embarking on an affair with a dread immortal wasn't one of his finer choices in the opinion of some, but he didn't care about that. Gartanas had been unhappy and all that mattered to Sarvelio was making the being happy again. He'd felt a connection with the Dremora since they'd met and he certainly hadn't forgotten the way his body had reacted to the other man. This made sense to him in ways that other factors in his life did not. He only wished he could have realised that yesterday.

He bought two more jars of mazte and returned to the table. To his dismay the other chair was empty. A cold dread settled into his gut and his heart ached. He'd pushed too far. Typical, Sarvelio, he chastised himself. Despondent, he left the jars where they were and went downstairs to relieve himself. As he passed by the barrels on his way to the garderobe he was startled as a tall figure swept from the shadows and pressed him against the wall. His panic faded as he recognised the red glow of Gartanas's eyes. Without preamble his lips descended on the surprised dunmer's mouth, soft and insistent. With a low groan Sarvelio leaned into the kiss, holding Gartanas's shoulders to ensure he did not move away too soon. 

A powerful thigh pressed against him and the dremora's heart thundered against his chest. Sarvelio sighed, passing his tongue along his lower lip, nibbling and persuading Gartanas to open up for him. As his lips parted and Sarvelio slid his tongue in a warm caress within the dremora's mouth, Gartanas embraced him tight and let out a low utterance.

They broke apart and breathlessly stared at one another. Sarvelio smiled and laughed softly, “I know I feel less confused now, how about you?”

“Yes,” Gartanas agreed. “Much less confused.” He kissed Sarvelio again, deeply yet tenderly. “It still makes little sense to me – we Dremora were not made to love, only to fight.”

“But you said yourself that the Dremora were unhappy to let the knowledge of themselves vanish when they die, perhaps the Dremora are changing in other ways too.”

“Perhaps. But whatever the reason I have been entranced by you since we met, I have desires I never knew I was capable of.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of an early work I wrote a long time ago based on a character I played in Morrowind along with a few mods. This story came about as a reaction to how I felt on encountering Princess Stomper's Markynaz Companion mod. So help me, I have a thing for Dremora. I love the Elder Scrolls series and do still play Morrowind to this day as there is something very special about the mood and feel of that game that I've never found anywhere else. The graphics and capabilities of the systems might have got better but the storytelling power of that game is just awesome as it does leave a lot of space for one's imagination.
> 
> I have more of this and other Elder Scrolls stuff .


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